


Wishful Thinking

by HomemadeLemonade



Category: Homeland
Genre: AU (obviously!), F/M, Fun & Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-08 21:11:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11090004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomemadeLemonade/pseuds/HomemadeLemonade
Summary: Carrie and Quinn suddenly find themselves on the same wavelength one very strange day.





	Wishful Thinking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InappropriateShoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InappropriateShoes/gifts).



"...Happy birthday to yoooou!"

Quinn's dimple made a rare appearance at Langley as he regarded Carrie's self-conscious smile. When Sarah from Payroll had waylaid him in the carpark that morning and asked him to ensure Carrie made her way to the lunchroom at 11am for birthday cake, he'd had misgivings.

However he'd kept an eye on his watch and the parade of whispering, giggling employees drifting down the hall as the hour approached, and had casually dropped by Carrie's desk to suggest they break for coffee. He'd allowed her to walk into the crowded lunchroom ahead of him and had taken up a spot against the door jamb, arms folded, overseeing the spectacle.

Sarah had caught his eye, beaming as she mouthed a grateful thank you, and lit the token candle on the cake. On a whim, he'd clicked off the light switch beside him and watched Carrie's cheeks glow in the flicker of the flame as the singing began. He didn't believe in wishes come true, but as she swept her hair to one side and bent forward to blow out the candle, he wondered whether she did.

Carrie shot Quinn a smile as he turned the light back on amid the cheering and clapping. She appreciated the gesture of the candle, but she didn't believe in wishes come true and wondered whether he did. Sarah carefully plucked the candle from the cake and began expertly cutting slices, efficiently passing them out to friends and freeloaders alike.

Carrie thanked her as she received her piece and spent the requisite few minutes making small talk with colleagues between bites. From the corner of her eye she saw Quinn push off the wall, deposit his half-eaten cake on the table and draw near as that asshole Ron or Don or whatever his name was from the Director's office snagged a second slice and made a beeline for her as the crowd thinned out.

Carrie glanced up as Quinn arrived at her side, jaw as strained as the shirt buttons across the fullest part of his chest. He had a tiny smear of whipped cream at the edge of his upper lip. _God_ , she thought, _he looks -_

"Delicious!" leered Don or Ron or whoever the fuck he was, his opener as well as his presence startling her as he forked up a mouthful of cake and not so subtly looked her over.

 _Douchebag_ , fumed Quinn silently, fists clenching. _He better not ask if she has -_

"Plans for tonight?" the asshole continued, licking his fork in what he thought was a seductive manner, but really just looked gluttonous.

 _Shit_ , thought Carrie, not even trying to hide her eye roll. _I can't believe this creep thinks he might have -_

"Dinner with me," Quinn said evenly, fists still clenched, lip still smeared with cream.

 _Wow_ , thought Carrie, trying to suppress a smile despite the weirdness of the situation. _Now that would be something I might actually -_

"Enjoy," a deflated Don, or was it Ron, said politely before turning on his heel and retreating with his cake.

 _Fuck you, douchebag,_ thought Quinn with quiet satisfaction. He turned his attention to Carrie who was distractedly watching the asshole's retreat.

"I appreciate you having my back," said Carrie, glancing at Quinn and his upper lip, "but -"

"We have that -" he began, gesturing dismissively.

 _Don't say 'hook-up',_ she thought.

"- conference call at 6pm."

"Yes," she breathed.

"OK," he said, pressing his lips together briefly, "we'll leave straight after." He gave a single nod, leaving her agape as he made for the mens room.

 _What the fuck,_ Carrie thought as she stared after him. The day had certainty taken a strange turn.

In the restroom, Quinn strode to the sink and wrenched on the faucet. He looked briefly at his reflection as he splashed water on his face. _What the fuck,_ he thought, _and is that cream on my lip?!_ He pressed a couple of paper towels to his face as he regained his composure.

As he returned to his desk, he noticed Carrie standing in front of one of the big windows in the corridor talking quietly on her phone. Judging by her body language, her sister was probably giving her grief. _At least she really does have plans this time,_ he thought.

"Look, Maggie," Carrie insisted, "I really do have a hook-, um, teleconference at six tonight."

As Maggie began guilt-tripping her about the girls wanting to give her their handmade cards and gifts on her special day, Carrie turned and saw Quinn heading towards his desk.

"Crap," she said softly, but still loud enough to trigger concern from Maggie.

"Nothing's wrong, just... things are a bit off here today. I'll come around on the weekend and spend time with the girls," she promised.

The afternoon passed quickly. Intel assessment, report writing, briefing notes - the job was simply never ending. Carrie finally came up for air and was wondering how long till the teleconference when Quinn materialised at her desk. _OK, so it must be -_

"That time," he said, stepping back, waiting to fall in beside her for the walk to the conference room.

The conference call proceeded smoothly. Carrie and Quinn were on the same page, agreeing with each other's views to the extent they could finish each other's sentences, only in this environment it felt natural rather than strange, and they used their united front to talk decision makers around.

As the attendees filed out of the room, Quinn and Carrie broke off and returned to their desks to gather their things. Carrie was rummaging in her purse wondering whether he'd booked a restaurant and if she should follow him when Quinn arrived at her desk, keys in hand and inclined his head to indicate he'd drive.

A short ride later, Carrie smiled approvingly when he turned his truck in to the parking lot of a suburban restaurant that seemed neither too flashy nor too low-rent. Dinner was in full swing and they scored one of the few remaining tables for two.

Carrie looked up at Quinn as they perused the menu and said, "This worked out well."

"Yeah," agreed Quinn, clearing his throat. "I was hoping to get you alone today."

Carrie took in his serious demeanour and wondered if this was connected to his absence from work the previous week. He'd been gone four days and hadn't offered an explanation, nor had she sought one. She leaned forward and waited expectantly for him to offer details.

"I've been asked to lead a small team in an off-book op to secure a high value target. I'm looking for someone with certain connections, on-the-ground knowledge and language skills to help with cover, backup and ex-fil."

 _He wants me_ , she realised.

"I need you," he clarified, knowing honesty was his best chance of recruitment.

"Shit, Quinn," she exhaled, leaning back against her seat. "You're saying you trust me to back you up, do what you say?"

"Carrie," Quinn began, "It's not like that between us. Neither of us will ever really follow the other's -"

"Orders?" beamed their waitress, appearing suddenly at their table, tapping her pencil against her notepad. "Have you folks looked at the menu?"

"Oh, the grilled vegetable and haloumi stack for me, thanks," Carrie requested, a little distracted.

"Salmon and steamed greens, please," Quinn said, flashing the waitress a polite smile and handing her their menus.

 _Shit, is this the first time we’ve had a proper meal together,_ he pondered. _At a table? With silverware?_ Sure, they'd eaten together before. But it was always takeout wolfed down at their desks while working late or balanced on their laps in surveillance vehicles, the experience further cheapened by flimsy plastic forks and tiny paper sachets of salt and tasteless pepper. _Why have I never at least invited her out for -_

"Drinks?" continued the waitress, looking from one to the other, still smiling.

"A glass of white wine - semillion, sauvignon blanc, whatever you have," Carrie shrugged.

"Make it two," decided Quinn, giving the waitress another of his small smiles. She floated back to the kitchen, pink cheeked, wondering if his tip would be as good as his smile.

Quinn's offer hung in the air but he wasn't exerting any pressure. He gave Carrie enough credit to understand the stakes and would leave her to make her own decision.

They sat in silence, looking around them, soaking up the vibe of normal life punctuated by occasional laughter. Though it had eluded them, they both knew the value of it, had built their careers on sacrifices to protect it.

 _What would he be like away from work,_ Carrie mused. What would she be like, for that matter. When had she last taken any sort of break, other than the times she'd been benched. _Could there ever be anything more between us,_ wondered Carrie. _I mean, I'm -_

"Special," offered the waitress who had returned with their meals and drinks. "Vegetarian, of course," she nodded.

"That's me," Carrie accepted the plate, a little dazed and glanced across at Quinn. _And he's -_

"Catch of the day," announced the waitress setting Quinn's fish down in front of him and fluttering between them offering freshly cracked pepper and extra lemon wedges, seemingly unwilling to leave.

Quinn glanced at Carrie who was already lifting her glass and replied, "I think we're -"

"Good!" she finished, with a wink, bustling away to take the order of the family at the next table.

Quinn swallowed reflexively as he caught a glimpse of creamy white cleavage when Carrie leant forward to clink her glass against his. What would it be like, he wondered, to allow his gaze, or even better his hand, to roam over her -

"Breast or thigh?" asked the waitress loudly, causing Quinn to startle, as she clarified orders for kids' chicken and fries meals at the next table, knowing from experience to raise her voice to be heard over the rowdy, overtired brood.

"Happy birthday," he said, recovering, touching his glass to hers.

Carrie watched his hands as he set down his wine after the obligatory sip, squeezed lemon on his fish and cut himself a precise bite. He was always a paragon of restraint despite the energy that practically thrummed beneath his skin at times. She sensed his attraction to her. She wondered if he realised it was mutual. He was always so careful with her _. I wonder if he'd ever throw caution to the wind and just -_

"Fuck me!" Quinn choked, discovering too late a bone in his salmon fillet.

Carrie quickly topped up his water glass, hoping her face wasn't telegraphing her thoughts right now, and that Quinn wasn't some sort of mind reader.

"Actually, I have a gift," he said quietly, once calm was restored. 

"What?!" she asked, recoiling in horror.

"For your birthday," he continued, pretending not to notice her reaction.

She nodded and pressed her lips together in what she hoped would pass for a smile.

"You didn't have to," she said, sipping her wine and eyeing him over the rim of her glass. 

"Something small," he shrugged. "Isn't that customary among -"

"Friends," spat the eldest boy at the next table sulkily to his younger brothers, as their father prompted them to shake hands and put their latest tiff behind them and their mother poured herself another glass of wine.

This time they both side-eyed the kids as Quinn reached into his inside jacket pocket and retrieved something tied with a bright orange ribbon. He passed it over to Carrie and watched as she pulled the ribbon undone and smiled in appreciation as a deep turquoise scarf unfurled in her lap. He'd bought it from a stall holder at a market he'd wandered through on his recon mission the previous week, confident the colour would suit her complexion. As she held it against her skin and examined the texture of the fabric, he saw he wasn't wrong.

"Uniform provided," she quipped, eyebrows raised. "And if I don't accept your offer?" she teased.

"Yours either way," he said, a twinkle in his eye.

Eventually the waitress returned to clear their plates and was crestfallen when they declined dessert, but perked up as Quinn paid the bill and favoured her with another of his polite smiles and the generous tip she'd anticipated. She leaned against the counter and watched the handsome couple leave the restaurant, the man's hand at the woman's back as he ushered her through the door. "She's a lucky girl," she thought to herself.

Quinn watched Carrie fluff the scarf around her shoulders to ward off the cool of the evening. She snuggled into it and looked up at him searchingly.

"If it's a no, just say," he said, eyes and tone serious now.

"I didn't say that," she said carefully.

"Well, you think about it, Carrie," he said quietly as they strolled to his truck.

The carspace next to their bay was now empty, save for them standing companionably close in it.

"Sure," she said, staring now. God, he was gorgeous, his eyes dark in the night, the moonlight highlighting the contours of his cheeks as he returned the smile. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she think straight just now? He was offering her a job, not a relationship or even a roll in the -

"Hey," he said, snapping her out of her reverie. "Is everything ok?"

Could she really let him go? When would she get another chance to follow him to the ends of the earth, or to see him like this, open, vulnerable even.

"Never again!" the woman from the next table hissed to her husband as they strapped their recalcitrant children into a station wagon nearby.

"Yeah," breathed Carrie, moving in as if drawn by an unseen force. _Everything's_ -

"Perfect," murmured Quinn, taking her in his arms, sliding a hand behind her and pushing her against his truck as they began to kiss.

The connection was unlike anything either of them had experienced before - a heady cocktail of mutual recognition and anticipation, surrender and desire.

When they broke the kiss, Carrie looked up at Quinn's lips which were moist from her own, felt his arousal where he'd crushed his body against the heat of hers and whispered, "Maybe we should -"

"Get a room!" called the eldest boy from the station wagon, having lowered his powered window. His father's cheeks reddened in mortification as he floored the accelerator and sped out of the lot. Quinn's dimple reappeared as he spied the child's mother holding her head in her hands.

In the small hours when a pleasantly exhausted Carrie looked back on her birthday, she recalled a surreal first date, not that either of them would have admitted it was a date. She smiled at the memory of their perfect first kiss, full of longing and wonder, passion and promise. Her skin tingled even now with the energy of their first time - hearts racing in tandem, shared pleasure, unspoken needs realised.

She still didn't believe in wishes come true, but she now believed in synchronicity. As she gazed at the lines of Quinn's face, smooth now in repose, she wondered if he did too. When he turned and rolled her onto her side, tucking a protective arm around her as sleep descended, she realised he probably did.


End file.
